My good friend, Bob White, died of pancreatic cancer on February 15, 2008...
five years ago. Five years is a long, long time to pass without a friend. About this time of year I get very melancholy; I miss his letters and cards, I miss his telephone calls, I miss traveling back to Ohio to spend time with him at county fairs. While sitting by the fireplace this afternoon, on the eve of the anniversary of his death, I closed my eyes for a few moments. I pictured Bob's face...it almost always featured a broad, sheepish smile. In his latter years, his face was highlighted by a balding head, thick sideburns, and bushy mustache. I could recall his voice - that slow-paced, Ohio country drawl that was often broken up by his laughter, and which brought a reddish cast to his face.
I remembered that Jill, his step-daughter, had written an e-mail to me about this time last year. I got up from my easy chair beside the fireplace and moved to my work desk. I searched through my disorganized files, and found a printed copy of Jill's e-mail. I read through it again, and found myself both laughing and crying.
I thought it would be a good idea to share it with you here. If you knew Bob, the stories will underscore your memories of him. If you didn't know Bob, the stories which Jill shares speak volumes about his character, his wit, and his concern for his family and friends.
I must apologize to Jill in advance. I've edited her tales here just a bit for the sake of clarity, and because she wrote that I was "a talented writer..."
The Clock
"I was able to spend a lot of time with Bob at his house during his last three weeks. I spent one week there alone, while awaiting the arrival of his daughter Molly. Molly was in the military, and had not yet been given leave to return home. From the time I arrived, all Bob wanted to talk about was who was entitled to what when he was gone. I told him that all I wanted was his "BH Enterprise" baseball cap (I had been after that hat for twenty years!)
Bob pointed to a clock, and asked me if I wanted it. It was a cute wall clock which he had purchased at Wal-Mart. It was long, and narrow, with the clock face at the top, and a picture of Black Lab puppies playing beneath it. I examined the clock, but it wasn't working. Bob said that the clock had not worked for a long period of time. He had tried everything to get it to work, but had been unsuccessful. I told him that the clock was cute...but I didn't need a clock that didn't work.
Over the course of the next week or so, many friends and relatives visited Bob in his home. He asked each and every one of them if they wanted that non-working clock. No one accepted the offer.
During that week Bob went from being ambulatory to only occasionally getting out of his bed to go to the bathroom. He was having a very difficult, painful time as the cancer progressed. He was at first embarrassed to have me help him get to and from the bathroom, but gradually overcame his discomfort at needing to be helped.
Molly arrived at the house, and helped with many of the duties of caring for her father. I watched Bob, and listened to their many conversations as he tried to give that old, non-functioning clock to her. Molly and I worked as a team while caring for Bob's many needs. The three of us shared moments of laughter, tears, anger and frustration.
The Raccoon Trap
Late one night, Molly and I were talking about the day's events. Suddenly, we heard noises coming from the old partial-basement...a creepy, dirt hole under the oldest part of the house. The noises continued for some time, so Molly and I decided to investigate. She grabbed a flashlight, and off we went. Molly opened the basement door, and we slowly crept half-way down the steps. Molly shined the flashlight all around. Neither of us saw anything...and we had already subconsciously decided that we were not going any farther into the pit. We quickly retreated back up the stairs. Fortunately, we did not hear any more noises that night.
The next day we asked Bob about the noises. He told us that he had set a trap there because he was certain a raccoon had been getting into the basement. When Bob's brother Tom came to visit later that day, Bob asked him to go gown into the basement and to check the trap. Tom did so, and found the trap empty.
That evening, I was teasing Bob about the empty raccoon trap. Unexpectedly, Bob became very angry, and yelled at me. Bob could see that my feelings were hurt. Later he apologized to me, and told me that he had only gotten angry because he was unable to do anything about the raccoon. He had always been able to take care of things around the house and farm, but now he was incapable of doing things.
A few days later, Bob had a really great day. He was able to visit with his grandchildren, Jake and Lizzie. They gave him some valentines early. It was a beautiful evening...the last Bob would share with his grandchildren.
On the morning of February 15th, Bob passed away. Molly and I were at his side. Later that afternoon, I traveled to North Lewisburg to stay at my brother's home.
Molly called me on the phone about 6 p.m. that evening. She asked me if I had messed around with that old clock, or if I had possibly changed the batteries. I told her no, that I had not handled the clock, and asked her why she was interested. To my surprise, Molly told me that the clock was running...it was not displaying the correct time...but the clock was running! My brother, his family, and I drove to Bob's house. We were amazed to see the clock was working. I believe that it was one of Bob's ways of telling us that he was fine and would see us all again some day.
Later that same evening, Tom White returned to the house. He went down into that dark, dirty basement and found the raccoon dead in the trap!
I left the area a few days after the funeral to return to my own home...without the clock. Now, I regret that I did not take that old clock home with me."